Monster
by Elizabeth Firebreath
Summary: I feel something rising in my chest. I wasn't homesick; it was Austria's house, what's to miss? I was more concerned with who I was leaving with. In that instant of irritation, I saw the Spain that everyone talked about, the conquistador. One word kept repeating in my mind. Monster. A song fic based on Monster by Meg and Dia


Chapter One

_Monster  
How should I feel?  
Creatures lie here  
Looking through the Widow_

My brother didn't even see me off.  
I wasn't expecting the piano bastard, or his crazy maid, or even that serious little kid that always follows Feli around.  
But my own fratello?  
I stand in the courtyard in front of Austria's house, alone. My few belongings clutched in hands (that were not trembling), waiting for my new boss.  
Austria had grown tired of me. Big surprise, doesn't everyone? Grandpa Rome sure did, that's why he was always with Feliciano and ignored me for the most part. So Austria struck up a deal with the country who had been fighting over Feli for the last few years. Guess he figured South Italy was better than no Italy.  
Spain, I mean.  
I had heard the stories about Spain, about his infamous armada. Monster, they said. Even England, with all his power and atrocities, couldn't match the cruel and sadistic nature of the things he'd had done.  
But I am not scared. I am Romano, the South Italy, part of the greatest country in the entire world, decadent of the Roman Empire. If this 'Spain' person thinks I will just roll over and play dead, he has another thing coming.  
In the distance I see a carriage bumping down the road. A shiver goes down my back. Not from fear, obviously. It was early autumn, and Austria is farther north than Italy. It was kind of cold, dammit.  
I didn't want to go with Spain. Not that I like the piano bastard. It's just that I don't want to leave my brother. These people are creepy. Just the other day, that Holy 'Roman' Empire -or whatever the hell he calls himself- lifted up my fratello's shirt! He may be more of a pervert than France is. And that's saying something! Who knows what will happen when I leave?  
The carriage pulled up in front of me. It's a really stupid looking Ornately carved with men and bulls and things all running all over each other in a pointless mess. The craftsman ship is passable, I suppose. Nothing like Grandpa Rome's artwork. Hell, Grandpa could outdo this guy in his sleep if he was still around. Honestly, was there anyone who could do halfway decent craftsmanship these days?  
"You're Romano, I assume?" laughs a gay voice above me.  
And by gay, I mean happy-though I don't doubt that he's also really gay, too. Probably throws up rainbows like France.  
I cringe at the voice. It was way to god damn happy. Well, looking on the bright side, at least it was speaking Italian and not fucking German. Maybe this was the wrong person or something; surely this couldn't be the Spain I heard about in all the stories.  
"Bastardo, I don't know who the hell you are, but I'm waiting for an Antonio," I announced. I decided to use Spain's human name. calling a person by the name of a country would be too confusing for a random stranger's small brain to grasp, and it would most likely explode. What a mess that would be. Bonus; if it was Spain, I know how pissed Austria gets when I call him Roderich.  
The man laughed. "If it's Antonio you're looking for, it's Antonio you've found." He's also talking weird. I guess it was a stupid Hispanic accent.  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? What if I wasn't looking for an Antonio, would you magically turn into someone else! Idiot!" I snap. Stupid jerk.  
He regards me with intrigue in his eyes. He still had the goofiest smile plastered on his face, and it was starting to piss me off.  
"We are going to have to work on your language, aren't we, Roma?"  
"Who the hell gave you permission to call me that?" I screamed.  
The bastard just laughed and looked down on me. "Esto va a ser más difícil de lo que pensaba," he sighed.  
"I can't understand you when you speak stupid."  
His eyes flash with irritation, displeased at my general incompliance. What I saw there made me take a step back.  
Without another word, he offers an impatient hand-and I take it. He hoists me up to the seat next to him. His gaze had long since softened, and he starts chatting happily.  
Never the less I feel something rising in my chest. I wasn't homesick; it was Austria's house, what's to miss?  
I was more concerned with who I was leaving with. In that instant of irritation, I saw the Spain that everyone talked about, the conquistador. One word kept repeating in my mind.  
Monster.


End file.
